


All Saints' Day

by ladyknightanka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bromance, Family, Fluff, M/M, Mild Language, Romance, Schmoop, Season 7 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-22
Updated: 2011-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-26 10:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyknightanka/pseuds/ladyknightanka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Adam's first birthday with the Winchesters, his twenty first, and they want to make it special, no matter how much he protests. Meanwhile, Michael is also in a celebratory mood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Saints' Day

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://ladyknightanka.livejournal.com/17498.html). Enjoy! ♥

-

All Saints' Day

-

Adam looked from Sam, Dean, and Bobby’s earnest faces to the rickety table in front of him, which had been laden with food and some supermarket pies, then said, “This is stupid.”

Dean sagged into his chair and Sam ducked his head, while Bobby simply glowered at him. “Ya try to do a nice thing,” the older man grumbled.

“No, wait, that came out wrong,” Adam amended, not protesting so much as honestly admitting a mistake. He sensed that there would be more ‘idgits’ than usual in his future. “What I’m trying to say is, what’s the point of all this?”

Dean gave him a disbelieving look that seemed to inquire, _are you fucking kidding me?_ Adam could easily see the expletive and fought the urge to comment that two gerunds generally didn’t go together like that. He didn’t want to end an already awkward situation by pissing Dean off that much more, after all. “You’re twenty one, kid. We won't be breaking the law when we give you drinks anymore. That’s pretty big,” the eldest Winchester deadpanned.

“Yeah, big, as in _old_. I’m not two; I’m not gonna go and lock myself in a closet, sobbing, just because my big brothers forgot my birthday.” Adam shrugged to take the sting out of it, not overtly saying that he didn’t expect very much from them, but implying it. He hadn’t thought they’d siege the Green Room for him, he'd doubted that they would try to rescue him from Hell, and he certainly didn’t think they’d set this makeshift party up now.

These last few years, his birthday had passed while he was dead – twirling around in Heaven or tortured in the Cage – but he remembered a time when his mom would stay home from work, one of the rare days off that she could afford a year, to bake a cake from scratch for him, before John came to pick him up for a baseball game. With her gone, he didn’t care about any of that anymore and he didn’t think anyone else should, either.

Dean’s face had taken on a stormy edge, but Sam was the one that spoke, “Well, the fact of the matter is, Adam, we _are_ your big brothers and that’s never going to change, no matter how much you roll your eyes or deny it. And this is our first birthday with you. We have a lot to make up for.”

“I…” Adam thought about quipping something sharp, witty, yet subtly hurtful. That had always been his go-to defense, if he felt even the barest niggling of discomfort, but nothing was normal anymore, was it? Who was to say that aspect of his life hadn’t changed, too? The words stayed on the tip of his tongue, refusing to snake out and dash whatever hopes his 'family' was harboring, neither choking back down his throat. Sam was similarly silent, having said his piece.

“Ugh!” Dean cried, after a few tense minutes. The sound was loud, sudden, in the otherwise quiet salvage yard, the oldest Winchester's handsome face twisting in disgust. “You two are the most bitchy younger brothers a guy ever had to deal with,” he said, exasperatedly fond. “Adam, buddy, we got _three_ flavors of pie for you. That's epic, man. Don't fight it, for fuck's sake!”

Bobby waggled a candle from the seat across Adam, who chuffed a quiet, defeated laugh, settling back into his own chair and watching as the curmudgeonly old hunter stuck it into the first pie's crust. Dean grinned, realizing he'd won, and extracted a lighter from his pocket. The minute his small flame touched the wick of the candle, however, a freak gust of wind blew it out.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” a gruff voice said from their rear. They turned to find Castiel, his arms loaded with bottles that glimmered faintly beneath Bobby's hanging light-bulb, his trenchcoat flaring behind him like wings. “I have, nonetheless, accumulated copious brands of alcohol to express my remorse. We may celebrate now.”

“Hell yeah!” Dean exclaimed, jolting up and throwing an amicable arm around his angel friend. “You're awesome, Cas.”

“Thank you,” Castiel replied, unperturbed, his dark eyes locked on Adam. “Bless you on this, the day of your birth, Adam Milligan. May you enjoy it.”

“Um, thanks, Cas,” Adam replied, his cheeks reddening. It wasn't unpleasant, though, he mused to himself, smiling back at Sam. For the first time in a long time, he was honestly enjoying himself.

But then Dean declared that he had to blow out his candle while everyone else sang – and not the usual _Happy Birthday_ , either, but some perverse bastardization that an overly hormonal twelve year old must have created. So much for that.

At least he got a few porn mags, beer, and an iPod out of it.

-

  
Adam wasn't sure how much later it was when he finally stumbled his way to bed, but Bobby was already snoring on the couch, Dean not far from joining him, so the two younger Winchesters propped themselves up against each other and bravely attempted to reach their shared room.

Both of them had nightmares of Hell. That was one reason they had decided to pair up, to avoid waking the others with their distress, but actually being in the vicinity of someone else who had experienced what you did – a brother in arms in the literal sense – was soothing for their tortured souls.

“G'night, Adam,” Sam murmured, waiting until Adam had burrowed into his blankets to start for his own bed. “Happy birthday, bro. I, um, I'm just really glad you're here.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Adam smiled up at him sleepily. “I'm glad I'm here, too.” They shared a final, conspiring grin, reveling in the fact that he actually meant it, then succumbed to the night's wares.

When next Adam came into consciousness, he was tilting listlessly on a child's swing, cool wind from the park in Windom haloing across his face. His eyes darted toward the picnic tables, expecting his mom to be there, but she wasn't. Despite that, he thanked all that was merciful for being deprived of meat-hooks and scorching brimstone, just the once. Maybe there was such a thing as birthday magic, after all.

A hand fell on his shoulder, somehow failing to startle him. “Hello, Adam,” its owner said, after he turned to glance up into a familiar, hazel-eyed face. Oh, so that's why the dream hadn't gone sour yet. His own personal dreamcatcher had arrived.

“Hey, Michael, what's up?” he asked, some of his cheer from the day's events dissolving. “Haven't heard from you in a while,” he added bitterly.

“I apologize,” the archangel whispered, genuine remorse adorning his expression – or, to be more accurate, that of Adam's youthful _father_. “Heaven has been in shambles, as you know. Castiel and I have been working very hard to restore it to its previous glory – ameliorate it, even, since we now know that we fall short. And yet...”

“Yet what?” Adam parroted, crossing his arms irately.

Michael smiled at him, an ever-patient quirk of his mouth, and moved to take the swing next to his, glancing around with comical insecurity, as if it would toss him off with sentient meanness the second he lowered his guard. “And yet, today is a special day for you and Heaven. I truly do not understand why it is important to mark another year of your life this way, to acknowledge that you're one year closer to death, but I know I would rather be here, in your company, than feasting in Heaven.”

Adam felt that same warmth from earlier burst within his chest. Disregarding it, he said, “Wait, you're having a party upstairs? Why? Please tell me it's not anything to do with me.”

“No,” the archangel answered dismissively, shrugging a shoulder, one of the many quirks that Adam had unintentionally taught him down under. “It is Saint Michael's Day today. They are hosting revelries in my honor. That is why Castiel was late earlier.”

“Oh.” Adam mulled over the information for a moment, pursing his lips, then broke out into a huge, delighted grin. “You know what this means, don't you? We have the same birthday.”

Michael smiled, too, indulging his good mood. “It _is_ a serendipitous coincidence, is it not?” He curved his hand to catch the metal twine of his former vessel's swing, weaving around it with a strong fist.

“Yeah, it really is,” Adam agreed, shyly lifting his own hand up to touch the same spot, feeling pleased when Michael immediately linked their fingers together around it, something deeply instinctual for them both. “I guess you're keeping the bad dreams away, for my gift,” he continued, taking coy glimpses of the angel through his eyelashes, “but what should I give you in return, Oh Holy Saint?”

“You're incorrigible,” Michael replied, but he didn't release Adam's hand, instead squeezing it harder, yet not nearly enough to hurt. Adam nervously wondered whether Michael could feel the rapid threading of his heart, through the delicate vein in his palm, but found that he didn't care about his pride anymore. If anyone asked, though, he'd lie about being such a girl.

It was a win-win all around.

-

_The End_

-

 


End file.
